


Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Oh Hell What The Fuck

by IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Castiel is Bad at Feelings (Supernatural), Christmas Fluff, Christmas in the Men of Letters Bunker, Dean Winchester Has a Wing Kink, Dean Winchester is Protective of Castiel, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Non-Explicit Sex, Smut, Wing Oil, Winged Castiel (Supernatural), Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt/pseuds/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt
Summary: Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings...
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 150





	Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Oh Hell What The Fuck

**Author's Note:**

> Right so uhhhh I had this idea for a short fluffy fic  
> And then I had to go and give it angst  
> And then the angst turned into some smut which, this is my first published smut so be sure to tell me if I should absolutely never write it again 😬

So Sam had decided that he wanted a proper Christmas now that they had a home base to set up in, and then he’d caught the flu and was currently watching Netflix and sniffling his way through an impressive amount of tissues. 

Thus, it fell to Dean to decorate the bunker. 

He was standing on a chair, reaching up to hang mistletoe off of the library doorway, when he heard the whoosh of flapping wings right behind him. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean startled at the noise and the greeting, dropping the mistletoe, spinning around, and automatically reaching for his weapon. 

Then he flailed his arms wildly as the momentum of his spin knocked his balance off kilter and he slipped off of the chair. “Jesus Christ!” He yelped as he fell, trying to twist so he wouldn’t damage himself hitting the floor. Briefly, he considered that Sam would no doubt find this entire thing hilarious. 

The floor, when he hit it, was unexpectedly soft and warm, which was surprising. 

Then he opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and oh, that wasn’t the floor at all. That was Cas. 

Cas had caught him. 

“Are you all right, Beloved?” His angel’s eyes were full of concern. “I did not mean to startle you.”

Dean struggled to get his feet back under himself. “M’fine. Jeez. We need to get you a bell.” He stood up fully and gave Cas a quick hug. “How was your trip?”

Cas had been sent by Sam to locate some sort of ancient artifact that they needed to neutralize another ancient artifact that was wreaking havoc in the bunker’s basement, or so Dean thought. He usually tuned out when they started geeking. 

“My trip went well. I have delivered the bracelet to the basement and secured the rampaging zebra.”

“We have a rampaging zebra?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it stays in the painting.” Cas seemed unbothered by the invasion of the bunker by zebras, so Dean decided to take cues from him. 

“...Right. Okay. Hey, uh, can you attach this mistletoe right up there?” He pointed at the top of the doorway arch. “I’m not inclined to get back on the chair just yet.”

In the blink of an eye, the mistletoe was hanging merrily right where Dean had wanted it. He reached out and tugged Cas closer by his tie. 

“Look, Cas,” he said. “Mistletoe.” Then he pulled his angel into a kiss. 

***

The next day, Sam was feeling better, so he and Dean ventured out into the woods to cut down a tree. 

Cas elected to remain in the bunker and translate some ancient texts that Bobby needed pronto, and sent Dean on his way with a soft kiss and a pat on the butt. 

Sam, standing behind them, had gagged obnoxiously at the display. 

So here Dean was, wielding an axe and loudly disputing with his brother which tree they should bring in. “This one’s taller,” he called to Sam, who was making a snow angel. “Why are you on the ground?”

“We can’t use that one,” Sam reasoned. “It has a bird nest in it. I can see it from here.”

Dean grudgingly agreed. 

“What about that one?” Sam pointed into the woods to Dean’s left. 

“Yeah, okay. Let’s hurry up, I’m freezing my nuts off here.” Dean advanced toward the tree and braced himself to cut it down. 

Then he handed the axe off to Sam and set about surreptitiously gathering a handful of snow while his brother exerted himself. 

The tree fell, Sam turned around with a gleeful grin, and Dean hit him in the chin with a snowball. 

“Oh, it is  _on_ ,” Sam said, bending and scooping up his own handful of snow. 

***

An hour later, both exhausted and happy, they were carrying the tree down the stairs in the bunker. Then they tried to take it through the doorway into the library. 

Unexpectedly, the other side of the doorway (blocked completely from sight by an explosion of evergreen) said “Dean! You’re back!”

Dean dropped his half of the tree in surprise, then took a moment to gather himself. “Hey, Cas. We got a tree!” Then, to himself, he muttered “We really need to get you a bell.”

***

On December fifteenth, Dean had his seventh Cas-related jump scare, and, in a fit of pique, hung a silver bell that was up until then attached to the wreath in the kitchen around his boyfriend’s neck. 

Cas watched him impassively as he scurried about finding a piece of twine to thread the bell onto and explaining as he did so that it was so he could hear Cas coming. 

Once the bell was situated around Cas’ neck, resting on his tie, Dean stood back and dusted his hands in a satisfied way. “There. Try that.”

Cas took a step toward him. 

The bell let out a gilded twinkle. 

There was a sudden popping, rushing noise, and suddenly the general area behind Cas was filled with iridescent feathers. 

“Hmm,” Cas said thoughtfully. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

***

Half an hour and quite a few minor accidents later, they discovered an inscription around the inside of the little bell’s rim. “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings,” Sam read out. 

The bell chimed as he turned it to see the lettering, and a low curse in Enochian came from behind Dean. 

He turned around, and sure enough, Cas’ wings had made another appearance. 

“So,” Sam said, manfully suppressing a laugh at Cas’ expression. “It looks like the Men of Letters thought it would be a funny holiday prank to create a play on words. Every time this particular bell rings, any angel’s wings within hearing distance show up?”

Cas nodded grumpily. 

Sam put the bell down on the table, and it made a tiny tinkling noise when it hit the wood. 

There was a loud rustling as Cas’ wings appeared and disturbed a very large stack of papers, which went whooshing around the room in the gust of wind that had caught them. 

Cas cursed. 

Sam cursed. 

Dean giggled. 

***

The bell was placed innocently on Dean and Cas’ bedside table, so Cas could keep an eye on it and make sure there were no nefarious Winchester pranks in the making. 

This backfired rather spectacularly on one memorable night. 

Dean was flat on his back on the bed, arching up into the skillful touch of his angel as Cas played his body like a violin. 

The angel pressed kisses along his chest, moving in a definite downward direction that had Dean’s head spinning. “God, Cas, please...”

Cas smirked up at him as he settled in between Dean’s legs. “Lube,” he said, eyes promising a multitude of very good things if Dean could keep his coordination together long enough to get lube. 

He reached for the tube on the bedside table just as Cas put his mouth somewhere _very_ nice indeed and Dean’s entire body convulsed. 

His hand jerked to the side and knocked the bell off the table. It fell to the floor, ringing merrily the entire way. 

Cas’ wings appeared, arched behind him and looming over Dean. He could see the inky black feathers, with their coppery red and deep blue undertones. 

Cas’ wings were beautiful. Dean felt a stab of lust as he looked at the gorgeous creature he was lucky enough to call his. 

Cas had frozen, looking up at Dean, when the wings appeared, and now he attempted to be shoving them back into whatever plane they usually spent time in. “Sorry,” he said, looking up at Dean. “I’ll put them away, I’m sorry.”

The wings disappeared with a poof. 

Cas murmured more apologies as he pressed gentle kisses to Dean’s hipbones, knowing how sensitive the man was there. Something was off, though, so Dean sat up and cradled Cas’ face in his hands. 

“Cas? Cas, baby, talk to me. What’s wrong?” He guided Cas up the bed and drew the blanket up over both of them. Cas immediately cuddled into his chest, hiding his face. 

Dean hugged his angel tight, whispering reassurances and rubbing his back comfortingly. Cas’ breath hitched as Dean bent to look into his eyes. “Cas, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Cas blinked up at him. “You know what’s wrong.”

Dean definitely did not know what was wrong, and he said so. “Baby, talk to me, please.”

Cas, to his credit maintaining eye credit, mumbled something which was still somehow muffled enough that Dean didn’t understand it. 

“What was that, love?”

“My wings,” Cas said, in a rush, then ducked his head, a blush staining his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

Dean kissed the top of his tousled head. Cas was trembling minutely as he pressed against Dean’s side, and Dean had the distinct feeling that figuring out what was wrong was going to be akin to pulling teeth. “Sweetheart, what about your wings?”

A thought occurred to him then. “It’s the bell, isn’t it? We can put it in a- a lockbox or something. Promise we won’t play any pranks.”

Cas made a little whimpering noise. 

“Baby, talk to me. Please.” Dean tried to sound as comforting as possible, knowing his mounting concern bled through into his every word. 

“We were... preparing to be intimate, and I ruined it.” Cas’ voice is small, broken. He sounds so far from the badass angel of the Lord Dean knows him to be that it instantly puts him on high alert. 

“Hey, whoa, no. You didn’t ruin anything, sugar. You’re perfect.” Dean pressed another kiss to the ruffled hair. Cas made a distressed little noise, and Dean smoothed his hand down the angel’s back. 

“My wings aren’t perfect. They haven’t been for a long time. They’re hideous.” Cas is looking at him, big blue eyes imploring him to do  _something_ , say _something_ to comfort him. 

Also, what? Cas’ wings couldn’t be called hideous by any stretch of the imagination. 

“Baby, your wings are perfect. They’re striking, and gorgeous, and downright majestic.”

Cas made another little noise, this one clearly indicating unhappy disagreement. Sometimes, he reminds Dean of a cat in how he communicates. 

“C’mon, love, can I see them again?”

It takes a few minutes of coaxing, but eventually Cas is persuaded to sit up in bed facing Dean and let his wings fan out behind him. 

Dean can’t suppress a gasp of amazement. “Sweetheart, they’re amazing!”

Cas shook his head, indicating a large patch on the left wing that’s mostly bare of feathers. 

Dean leans closer; he thinks he can see the white shimmer of bone poking through the plumage. “Are you hurt? What can I do?”

“Old injuries. They won’t heal any more than this.” Cas fanned out the long feathers on the end of his wings. Pinions? Dean wondered. Some of them were missing, leaving gaps in the spread of the darkly shimmering feathers. 

“Why not?”

“These are the places my wings were scorched by the fires of hell. My Grace can’t heal that.” Cas was still looking at him tentatively, like he was expecting Dean to shove him and his wings away. 

Dean reached out slowly. “Can I touch?”

Cas wordlessly moved one of his wings within touching distance, and Dean gently stroked the feathers. They were soft and heavy; the long, pointed outer feathers cushioned by a layer of down. Dean sunk his fingers into the down, and Cas gave a full-body shiver. 

“Good?” Dean asked. 

“Mmm,” Cas agreed. 

“All right then, listen up.” Dean kept petting Cas, hoping it would relax him. “The only time I know of that you’ve been in hell is when you yanked me out. That means you got these wounds saving my soul. Yes?"

Cas had, during the course of this speech, slumped forward so he was leaning on Dean’s chest while straddling his legs, and he was practically purring. He made a humming noise in agreement. 

“Baby, these are here because you saved me. You were brave enough to lay siege to Hell, and strong enough to pull both of us out while you must’ve been in agony.”

Cas made another agreeable noise. 

“Your wings aren’t ugly. They’re beautiful, and even more so for the scars they bear. You have the wings of a warrior, Cas.” Dean moved his hands deeper into the feathers, tugging lightly and rubbing in small circles with his fingertips. “And I, for one, think they’re sexy.”

Cas shuddered again and ground his hips down, making Dean feel exactly how worked up he was getting. “Please,” he begged. 

“You like me touching your wings, baby?” Dean moved his hands to where Cas’ wings met his shoulder blades and started massaging the joint. Cas let out a shameless moan, and sped up his movements. 

“Yes, Dean, yes, right- oh! Right there,” he panted. His eyes were wild and his mouth open as Dean slipped one hand down between their bodies and lightly stroked Cas. 

“That’s it, love,” Dean said, voice rough. “You gonna come humping my hand, while I play with your wings, sweetheart?”

Cas pulled him into a frantic kiss as Dean’s hips, entirely of their own volition, jerked up to grind against his angel. Dean let out a moan against Cas’ lips.

Cas was warm and pliable above him, rubbing up against Dean _just_ right, as his wings quivered and twitched under Dean’s capable hand. 

“Gonna come for me, baby?” Dean asked, as his hand brushed against a slick gland under Cas’ feathers. 

“Pineal gland,” Cas panted against Dean’s neck where he was nibbling faint pink marks into the skin. “Very- very sensitive.” 

Dean, fully appreciating that information, lightly rubbed his finger over the gland. Cas’ hips stuttered and his wings flared out as he came, painting Dean’s stomach. 

The sight of his angel with his back arched in ecstasy was enough to push Dean over the edge too, and they lay tangled together and panting. 

Dean pressed a soft kiss to Cas’ shoulder, which had somehow ended up in front of his face. “We should probably clean up.”

He moved to get off the bed in search of a damp cloth, and was suddenly thoroughly cocooned in a pair of very soft wings. 

“Stay,” Cas grumbled, snuggling up against Dean.

“We’re gonna wake up stuck together,” Dean warned him. 

Cas just pulled him closer, then immediately started huffing out even, soft breaths. The bed was warm, and Cas was soft and cuddly, and Dean decided that all in all, there was nowhere he’d rather be. 

Even if he was gonna be all crusty the next morning. 


End file.
